Keep watching over me, and I will always do my best to make you proud.

It’s been fifteen years.

Since that day you were supposed to pick me up. But you never showed which was typical.

I remember standing by the window watching the snow hit the ground. I was so excited to go Christmas shopping with you. I went to bed that night understanding that you were a busy person, and that there would be other days we could go.
But there wouldn’t be another day. Waking up to my mother crying, explaining that I was never going to see you again was something I didn’t expect, or understand. I didn’t get why God took you from me and why there were so many people crying. Four year olds don’t really understand the concept of death, and it took me years to truly understand it.

The wake was hard. I remember sitting on sissy’s lap and being told to remain quiet. I wanted to run around and play, but was told to sit there. Tears were running down everyone’s faces like a waterfall. Everyone was hugging me and telling me how sorry they were. Sorry for what? They aren’t the one’s that took you from me.
They told me that your heart had stopped. Mommy said it’s because you smoked too much. That doesn’t stop me from smoking a pack a day now though. Like father like daughter right?

You were only 42. You had so much more life to live. A life with me, and the rest of your family. It fell apart; the whole family stopped talking when you died. I saw you sister the other day; she didn’t even know it was me.

So my question is why, why did you leave? You left me with her, who reminds me every day that I was a mistake. And that she wishes you were here and she was gone. Well, I wish you were here too.

No one ever told me I wasn’t allowed to date, no one gave me my first boyfriend that “shotgun” lecture. You weren’t here to see me graduate or help me pick out my first car. A psychiatrist once told me that I felt uncomfortable around men because you weren’t in my life. I was never athletic; mom told me playing inside was more fun than going to parks. I thought that as years pass mourning is supposed to go away, but why is it that I mourn more now than I ever have? I miss you every day.

I go to your gravesite a lot. I play songs that mom told me were your favorite. I don’t have much of yours, a few pictures and a raggedy flannel. Sometimes I forget what you looked like, how you smelled, what you personality was like. People say I look like you, I wish we could compare face to face.

Who will walk me down the aisle when that time comes? Who will give my husband-to-be that “if you hurt her I know where to bury you” look?

I wish I could have a conversation with you, one last time. I’m older now, and I think we would get along great. I miss going to work with you, and spending the night at your house. I remember you used to make me giggle a lot, and that I was always happy when you were around. I remember the birthday where you smashed the cake in my face, and mom got mad because it ruined my dress.
I miss you more than words can explain.

Keep watching over me, and I will always do my best to make you proud.